The Asian Honeymoon: Part II

We had wanted to stay a few days in Siem Reap; not to spend another day at Angkor, obviously, but perhaps visit the floating villages of Tonle Sap or take a class in soapstone carving. However, as the next leg of our trip was in Mondulkiri, across the country, and the hotel reception wincingly told us that it was not possible to reach Sen Monorem in one day (after having to show her on a map where it was), we had to cut short our time in Siem Reap. In the end, we decided to take a bus to Kampong Cham, stay a night there, and then continue to Sen Monorem the next day.

On the way to Kampong Cham, we saw that the hotel receptionist had been right. Maps can be so deceiving, can't they? What was supposed to be the main highway between Siem Reap and Phnom Penh had been reduced to a dirt track, and even though the bus driver drove like a madman, overtaking dump trucks and minivans, it still took about 6 hours to get to Kampong Cham. By the time we had arrived, all of the ticket agents were closed, except one. The woman working there saw the two foreigners staring at the sign in front of her store and leapt out of her hammock: “Bus! Bus! Phnom Penh! Siem Reap!”

“No, Sen Monorem,” we said.

“OK, tomorrow morning you here 7.30. Ten dollars, ten dollars!” We paid her, probably unwisely, and then set out to look for a hotel.

Kampong Cham is a small, dusty, ugly city on the Western bank of the muddy Mekong river. All of its hotels are located on the riverfront or within a block of it, and we checked into the nicest hotel in town – the room was gigantic, had air conditioning, hot water, and satellite TV, and only set us back about $20. Indeed, we spent more money on food in the night we were in Kampong Cham than we did for the hotel.

The next day we were at the ticket office bright and early. We waited for half an hour, but no bus arrived. After about 40 minutes, the woman from the day before saw us and began gesticulating toward the road: “Sen Monorem!” We turned the corner and saw, to our chagrin, a minibus. Great.

Minibuses are a popular form of transport in Cambodia, mainly because they are inexpensive. However, this also means that the driver will squeeze enough people and stuff in the minibus as humanly possible. So twenty minutes later there we were, in a 12-person van stuffed with 24 people, a scooter, and enormous sacks of god-knows-what on our way to Sen Monorem.

What should have been a four hour trip took over six hours, mainly because the driver kept stopping to pick up and drop off people and various bits of cargo – sacks of fruit, automobile parts, cookware – in every village along the way. Cambodians also eat a lot (they prefer to snack throughout the day), so there were also frequent stops for cigarette breaks and for passengers to by rice and eggs to snack on.

The worst part of the journey, however, was when we stopped, about halfway, at a durian farm. 

Let me make an aside here about the durian. The durian itself is a green fruit about the size and shape of a rugby ball and is covered with a spiky skin. Although it is adored by Southeast Asian people, it is strictly forbidden to bring into hotels, public transport, and especially airplanes. This is due to the rancid stench it emits, which is something akin to moldy gym socks and festering sewage mixed together. For the unaccustomed, the stench in unbearable; at one point in a market in Bangkok I was so overwhelmed by the odor that I nearly vomited. The odor is one that remains on clothing and surfaces, so that is why it is banned in most places (indeed, the information booklet at the hotel in Kampong Cham proclaimed, “Fruits emitting a strong odor are not permitted. Especially, the durian is strictly prohibited.”) This is the reason we were not happy to see the driver stop at a durian farm (apparently at that point we were in durian country) and everyone pile out to purchase a hefty sack of durians. To put it mildly, our journey to Sen Monorem was absolutely charming. 

Durians (left) and other fruit

Located in the mountainous region of Mondulkiri, Sen Monorem was much cooler than Siem Reap and Kampong Cham. Indeed it was in the middle of nowhere, but we had been looking forward to coming here for a while because of the elephants. Our research in months prior had revealed that Sen Monorem was home to several elephant rescue sanctuaries where you could go and spend the day with elephants in the jungle, feeding them and bathing them. Of course we didn't want to ride the elephants, as such elephants are often underfed and mistreated, so the project appealed to us and we made a reservation.

The next day we were in town early for the guide to bring us to the project's jungle bungalow. The guide explained that although the project was new and only had two elephants, it was the only one in town owned by Cambodians and making an effort to educate the local indigenous people, the Bunong, about the importance of forest preservation. We spent the day feeding, washing, and watching the elephants in the jungle while the guide explained about the elephants, the local people, jungle ecology, and environmental destruction in Cambodia. It was very educational, and it was altogether a wonderful experience to see the elephants in their native environment and not behind bars at a zoo or circus. Despite falling in the mud several times and Anna being bit by a leech, we had a wonderful time. 

Awesome guide.

We took it easy the next day in Sen Monorem. We hired a driver to take us to a waterfall outside of town (the largest waterfall in Cambodia) that would have been more impressive had the bottom not been closed off due to it being the rainy season. Back in town, we shopped a bit, had dinner, and bought a bus ticket to Sihanoukville. The next day, we left early on a spacious, air-conditioned van (what they called a “VIP Bus”) for the Southern coast.

From the inception of our honeymoon, the highlight of our trip was supposed to be Koh Rong Samloem, a somewhat deserted tropical island about 15 miles off the coast of the southern town of Sihanoukville. Apparently the island was akin to Koh Chang and Koh Samet in Thailand 20 years ago, before they became commercialized: deserted, long white sand beaches, and crystal-clear turquoise water. We looked at pictures online and rented a beachfront bungalow, and became quite excited about spending a few days as castaways on a tropical island.

Although it was the rainy season during our trip, we had been lucky with the weather. Occasionally it would rain for an hour or two in the afternoon and at night, but otherwise the weather had been clear and not interfered with our plans. It wasn't until we arrived in Sihanoukville that we understood what “rainy season” meant. It rained the entire first day in Sihanoukville. As in, it rained as if we were in the middle of a monsoon. The wind kicked up as well, and the ocean became rough. Bored with hotel TV and playing cards, we went to the bungalow office to inquire about the weather and whether or not we would be able to leave the next day.

“Yes, of course. Be here at 11 tomorrow. The boat may be a bit late, but it will go tomorrow.”

Strict laws in Sihanoukville.

It was raining even harder the next day when we arrived at the office with our bags to catch the boat. The sky turned dark gray and the wind lashed the sheets of rain against the tin roof. After waiting for an hour, we were ushered into a tuk-tuk along with a few boxes of rum and then driven to the port. At the single concrete pier, waves thrashed boats against the wooden pilings. I looked hopefully at a sleek aluminum catamaran at the end of the pier – surely in rough seas like this we would be taking that catamaran. My hopes shrunk, however, when a deckhand began to wave us over to a small, brightly painted wooden fishing boat. Oh, God. I waved Anna over from the tuk-tuk, and standing on the pier examining the rickety boat being tossed about by the waves, I saw her heart sink.

“This is why we came! If we don't go, we're going back to Bangkok tomorrow,” I said. Reluctantly, she climbed shakily down the single wooden plank and tucked herself behind the wheelhouse; I did the same.

With us, our bags, a couple barefoot navy soldiers, and a few boxes of food and booze for the bungalow bar, the captain began to chug out of the harbor. The seas was rough – the swells were at least 8-10 feet, and although Anna was frightened, I wasn't too worried; the captain seemed to know what he was doing – he took on the swells at the right angle and throttled it slow. Nonetheless, it was still a choppy and uncomfortable ride. After about an hour and a half, the island came into view.

“Look amore, there's the island. We're close, it won't be too long now. We're OK,” I tried to reassure Anna.

But I spoke too soon. Past the island, the horizon was black, and soon the island disappeared into darkness. Within minutes, the boat was enveloped in the darkness of a wicked storm, with horizontal rain lashing the boat and fierce winds kicking up the swells even higher. Anna began to cry and move her lips in prayer. She was terrified. Until this point I had trusted the captain and been reassured that we had had two navy sailors on board with us, but once in the midst of that beastly maelstrom – and seeing the deckhand's eyes widen a bit – I became scared. All I could do though, was hold onto the gunwale for dear life, hold Anna's hand and wait it out as the boat rolled wildly amongst the waves.

After about 20 minutes, the storm passed, and after another hour we were safe inside a lagoon with a little dinghy paddling out to get us. The boat ride had exhausted us, and once on the island we were dismayed that we would have to walk 20 minutes across the island through the jungle to get to the bungalows. We had made it though, and arriving at the bar I swiftly ordered a double whiskey before going to the bungalow and collapsing in the hammock.

Although we had survived the nastiest bit of the weather that day, the rain and wind continued. The surf in front of our beachfront bungalow was ferocious, the wind blew through the floorboards, and the gray sky continued to rain. Welcome to paradise.

The next day the weather remained overcast. We went for a long walk through the jungle and along the lagoon on the other side of the island, seeing wild macaques and toucans along the way, and it wasn't until near dusk that the wind died, the surfed calmed to a gentle ebb, and the sun came out. We made the most of it and went for a long swim afterwards, over dinner, we decided to cut our island holiday short and leave the next day, as we had no way of knowing how the weather would be.

Last day.

Of course the day we left was the most beautiful. The sun shone bright and the ocean was dead calm as we steamed away from the island. Damned if you do, damned if you don't, I thought. Back in Sihanoukville, we took it easy. We did some shopping at the market, had a massage, and finished the day with a beer on the beach. Even though the weather had been shitty, I sipped my beer and wished we had had a few more days.

The next day we spent 12 hours on two different buses back to Bangkok. In the end we had wanted to stay another day, but opted to get back to Bangkok to have a shopping day and a day to spend with Martyn. After buying a ton of souvenirs and drinking a final Chang at the Skyline Jazz Bar, it was time to go. We were ready, but there was so much that we didn't have time for. In the end, it's always like that though: too much time, but never enough time.